


Tír fo Thuinn

by storythief11



Category: Secret of Kells (2009), Song of the Sea (2014)
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Brief reference to Anglo-Irish relations, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Fae & Fairies, Gen, How Do I Tag, I'm just a dumb American who's bad at tagging, I'm sorry if I get anything wrong, Immortality, Not Beta Read, as usual, possible ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-26 20:34:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30111645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storythief11/pseuds/storythief11
Summary: Aisling departs for Tír na nÓg with the rest of faeries.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	Tír fo Thuinn

**Author's Note:**

> I just watched Song of the Sea and...wow. That's the third movie I've ever seen where the ending made me cry. It's really good. For some reason, though, I kind of wondered what would happen if I mixed this in with Secret of Kells, since they were made by the same studio and focus on Irish mythology.  
> I've read a lot of Irish myths and so far have seen no indication that faeries age. If anyone knows more about these myths than I do, feel free to correct me. Also, it's been a while since I've seen Secret of Kells, so Aisling will probably be out of character here, and I apologize for that.  
> Title comes from an alternate name for Tír na nÓg.

It's been hundreds - or was it thousands? - of years since Aisling has seen her home. She has seen cities and forests fall and fade away, watched the monastery where her lone friend lived burn to ash and be forgotten. The tales told of her and her brethren have come and gone like the tide, crashing in and washing away until a great dam was built, preventing the stories from being told for so long. But nothing lasts forever, not the stories, not the dam built to block them, not even the fae themselves. 

She forgets how much time has passed sometimes. She forgets a lot of things: her mother's face, the sound of the wind singing in the trees, the beauty of Tír na nÓg, her home, lost for so long. She forgets what it's like not to feel alone. 

But when the Song of the Sea lit up the sky, she couldn't help but remember. 

The fae, so many of them gone or sleeping, returned. They ascended to that trail in the sky, and Aisling, with little deliberation, joined them. She walked the trail, the golden dust crumbling beneath her feet, following the song to its source - Mac Lir, frozen in stone in the midst of the sea. The selkie's song carried in the wind. 

She followed the trail, her long-lost home waiting at the end. The other fae traveled, eagerly, towards it. 

But Aisling stopped. 

She looked back at Earth, at Ireland. At its smog-filled cities and its rolling green hills. She felt the memories fill her, memories of this world, and she suddenly realized that, perhaps, she would miss it. 

She would miss the wind singing through the trees. She would miss her wolf form, running through the woods with her pack. She would miss Brendan, long gone by now and forgotten, one of the few humans who showed her both respect and friendship. She would miss the forests, once-vast and now dwindling, and the ruins of old churches crumbing within them. 

There was nothing for her here, now that the old ways of the world were fading, now that the fae's numbers shrank more and more, now that she had nothing left but to return home. 

But what was home? Was it the place you were born, the place you came from? Or was it the place you built for yourself, the place where you felt most comfortable? 

It suddenly occurred to her that, perhaps, Tír na nÓg was never a home. She'd been so young when she left, and the place she revered as a safe haven was little more than a distant memory. Ireland was real, so close, right there. The dust of time was soaked into her skin here, and she was as much a part of Ireland as Ireland was a part of her. 

This - _this_ \- was home. Not the distant place in the clouds that she barely remembered; this inconsequential green isle, bright and beautiful and stronger than any fae, stronger than the Tuatha de Danaan, even. How long had it stood? Longer than her. Long enough to witness all she had and more, all the war and chaos and bloodshed, and all the beauty and kindness and hope and this, _this_ , this was her home. This was her home, and she couldn't stay. 

Her home was no place for a fae, not anymore. 

Her heart ached to stay, but she had to leave. She must leave. 

So she did. Didn't look back. Don't look back. Don't stay. You can never stay. If you look back, you will stay here. You will leave the bridge and descend to Earth, and you can never leave. There will be no place for you here with the other fae gone, left for Tír na nÓg and leaving you behind. 

She entered Tír na nÓg and never looked back. 

**Author's Note:**

> If I remember correctly, "fae" are actually called aos si in Irish myth, but that's hard to type, so I just used fae because I'm lazy. I apologize.


End file.
